


Debate of her existence

by psychoticwhore



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Growth, Healing, I dont know where this is going to go but i have a rough idea, Multi, Slow Burn, angst for you masochists, enjoy, its a shit show, reassurring i know, self discovery, that was a lie i have no idea, theres is also smut, this is my first fic, warning for you prudes and a blinking sign for you heathens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:08:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28029036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychoticwhore/pseuds/psychoticwhore
Summary: Nesta Archeron was never known for being good. You wouldn't hear anyone speak of it. Never the possibility of herself either. Some people see the world and its inhabitants in shades of black and white. The best she could ever probably pass as is a dark grey. And thats scraping for the lighter tones. Do not be fooled fellow friends for this is not the talk of simple self loathing but a fact for people who boast truth on the lines of subjective insanity. All it takes is one simple act. A period of foolishness. A slip in restraint. A mistake. For her to feel like not just her person but the entire world is a ever-consuming, soul damning, sinister dark. So deep in its pitch of shadow that to look into it was to feel stamped in the very backs of your eyes from the absence of light. Black like falling in a never ending hole. Black like forever sinking in a pile of charred ash. Black like forever drowning in wicked waters of the cauldron. Sense the subtlety yet? Do not let it be said that her perception of this tar-like prison of utter black was caused from this very mistake. I'll say it again. Nesta Archeron was never known for being good. You could say that it all caught up with her. Karma or bad luck? Debate of her existence.
Relationships: Azriel & Cassian & Morrigan (ACoTaR), Azriel & Cassian & Rhysand (ACoTaR), Elain Archeron & Feyre Archeron & Nesta Archeron, Elain Archeron/Azriel, Elain Archeron/Lucien Vanserra, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Nesta Archeron/Azriel, Nesta Archeron/Cassian, Nesta Archeron/Other(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	1. Azriel

**Author's Note:**

> Okay this is my first fic so i dont really know what I'm doing. So chaotic. It picks up in ACOWAR after Azriel and Feyre save Elain from Hybern's clutches.

“It’s gone on for so long. So long. I’m petrified to face him—to tell him he’s spent five hundred years pining for someone and something that won’t ever exist. The potential fallout … I like things the way they are. Even if I can’t … can’t really be me, I … things are good enough.”

Her words rung through my head like a symphony of chimes. Not the serene stream of soft melodies that encases your body in a frozen state of peace. But an invasive screech blasted through my senses. The voice however quiet through the stretch of distance from their voices to my tent, picked up by my fae hearing. Hindering my vision into a milky blur. Making my eyes sting and my chest feel tight. Too tight. 

In that moment I slipped. Other people wouldn’t have picked up on it. There were no tears adorning my cheeks. My facial expression remained solid in its cold indifference. But in that moment through the shallow breaths I was taking my chest hitched. A small delay in my almost perfect system of my person. 

Throughout my years I have mastered the ability to mask my emotions. Once a deemed necessity, now more just who I am. Since young age emotions confused me. They were messy and complicated. In my upbringing, the tiny cell that was not even big enough for me stand up straight were I lay alone without much substance and in my own filth. The only things I knew were pain and darkness. The only constants. 

I saw my mother only once a week for a one-hour periods of time. I looked forward to the change in environment, but I almost dreaded the company. It ashamed me to admit she was my mother and I should have looked forward to seeing her. Yet, in those moments the feeling was too much. 

Then they burned my hands and the sounds of my own voice were so loud that I didn’t know if the ringing in my head was from the sensitivity of my hearing or the intensity of the pain as my skin melted and the smell of burning flesh wafted from my hands in a violent steam.

Later that night when I was left alone in my cell with my injuries left bare was when the shadows came. And everything changed then. I met the race I grew to hate in association. Came apparent to their ways and beliefs. Not only that I met Rhys and Cassian, who became my brothers opening my eyes to a whole new world. Even though I have always put a dampener on my true feelings. Sometimes I let go a little bit when I’m just surrounded by family, they make me better. I remember the day she came into the camp. 

“Come on shadow boy, give me something to fight against.” 

Came Cassian’s voice vaguely to my left but I wasn’t paying any attention to him. No that was stolen away from the sound the most vibrant, beautiful laugh I have ever heard. Holding the ability to wash over me like tranquil waterfall cascading, robbing me of my breath. From where I stood in the fighting ring, the cold and dark atmosphere of the Illyrian camp there she was. Like a shining star in the midst of the harsh dark of night. 

Walking next to Rhys a blonde-haired woman, her long curls sashaying across the mid of her back in each step she took. Her deep red dress doing nothing to her figure as it grew tight around her upper torso and flowed down relaxed down her legs. A dark cloak hung over her shoulders the hood off her head showing her face openly and freely. 

And then she was coming closer. Cassian finally noticing what had me so distracted to completely ignore him and the task at hand to pummel him to the ground. Came to stand next to me and face in their direction.

“Mothers tits, what’s a girl like that doing here?” 

And then they were right in front of them. Up close I noticed the delicate brush of her eyelashes against the soft blush of her cheeks. Her face structured in sharp cheek bones and the triangle tips of her ears peeking out of her hair evident. High fae? Her skin had this urethral glow about her and smelled of jasmine and a hint of vanilla. It was intoxicating

“Cassian, Azriel. This is my cousin Mor she’s from the Court of nightmares and she’s staying here with us for a bit.” Nodded Rhys at us. 

I noticed the slight twitch in her smile at the mention of the Court of nightmares, but it held strong, nonetheless. 

“Hey sweetheart, I’m Cassian. The one these nut heads would probably crash and burn without my wise influence and impressive strength to keep them going.” Cassian said. The smirk and wink almost obvious in his tone. 

Rhys just rolled her eyes, but she threw her head back and there was that sound of her laughter yet again. My eyes still haven’t left her almost entranced by her beauty. Then she looked at me and I was lost in the deep chocolate swirl of her eyes. The shadows disappeared and the forever presence of their darkness vanished. She was pure light.

“Hello”

Bringing me out of my head was a slight scuffle at the flaps of my tent. I reach over to my side where the tips of my fingers embraced truth-teller. The strain had my mouth in a slight wince. My injuries from rescuing Elain from Hybern’s grasp still tender as it’s only the day after I had a healer tend to me. 

It was my surprise when the person who emerged from the opening and into my tent was the oldest Acheron sister. The confusion must have been present by my lack of greeting as she skimmed her eyes over my bed-ridden state now seated up the covers covering the bottom half of my body leaving the rest of my skin bare. 

She had a dark purple dress tight around her upper chest and torso that stopped just about mid-calf letting her move freely. Dark leather boots adorned her feet and the sleeves of her dress rolled up and she carried and tray of healing materials like fresh dressings and salve. Her hair was in a messy bun at the back of her head showing her sharp facial features as her icy blue-grey eyes met mine in challenge. It was so different to see her like this contrary to her modest gowns and extravagant braided hairstyles. 

“I came to come to change the dressings of your wounds.” Her voice quiet and short but left no room to question as if that was a small purpose, she had set out for herself.

My shadows came tickling up around my neck and ears. 

The snake tongued girl has delighted us with her presence

Does she wish to cause harm with her coldness?

She came alone with no weapons and items which hold true for the intentions she voices

Caldron-dammed 

I study her for a moment. She doesn’t move from her stance. Her chin tilted up eye set ablaze with her quiet, cold fire. I give her a nod and that seems like all the notion she needs as she comes up to my side and sets to work. A silence sets upon us which would be awkward if we weren’t so attune with the quiet. Both of us not comfortable enough in each other’s presence to relax but not awkward enough in the absence of sound. An understanding of nothingness.

Through the silence I let my thoughts drift to the conversation I ears dropped just before. My jaw clenching and ticking. Mor didn’t love me. Never has and never will. Deep down I knew. I was never good enough and I was just holding onto the slimmer hope of that fantasy. But she wasn’t even interested at all in me because she likes females? It was all a lot to take in and hearing her actually admit to the unrequited love hurt more than I liked to admit. 

Breaking the shared quiet we had, her voice whispered softly next to me. Her hands in a type of gentle I never knew Nesta Acheron was capable of. 

“The old dressings are now off. I’m going to apply the salve on the wounds of your wings then put on the new dressings. Is that okay?” 

I stare into her eyes. Although her voice was gentle her gaze and the purse of her lip never softened from its stony resilience. I nodded again hesitantly. I didn’t really know her, but I knew she wasn’t dumb enough to harm me like this. 

She turned her back to get her the materials at hand. Shoulders tense. 

“Thank you for bringing my sisters back.”

The sound coming out clipped and forced like it was straining her. But I heard correctly, not just Elain but both her sisters. I wonder if Feyre was in the room would she mention both of them not just Elain. Still not in the mood to talk when she turned back around an open tin of salve in her hand. I just nodded merely.

Apparently, she didn’t feel like being silent after breaking the ice from her small declaration of gratitude because she spoke again yet this time without the softness her voice held before. Her words short with her usual bluntness.

“I walked past Feyre and Mor on my way here although they did not see me.”

By the way my shoulders tensed so suddenly, wings stiff and my eyes darkened gave her the answer on whether I too heard what they were discussing. Deciding that was a good time to first touch my wing with a salve slick finger. I hissed through my teeth at the cold burn against the deeply scarred gorges on my wings. It distracted me from the thoughts of who exactly was touching my wings and let me focus on that conversation. 

“I never really had a care for her, and she doesn’t like me.” Randomly as if that held any relevance. With a one shouldered shrug. She added. “She never deserved your love.”

Was I that transparent that the coldest sister could see me? A growl escaped my chest at the mention of my feelings towards Mor. Even if she never loved me, she was still my family. My protective instincts taking over once she said that. She didn’t flinch away at the sound still working on my wounds like she expected that reaction. Her cold fingers along my wings contrasting against my heating skin from anger. She might of not known of my feelings of Mor before but after that conversation she now knew for sure. 

“I don’t see how this concerns you.”

The first words I have said to her since she came into my tent. Slow and calm ,cutting the air like scraping gravel. Looking around at the dim morning light seeping through the edges of tent at the bottom of the floor. The red groundsheet covering the muddy group keeping the tent dry and warm. The drawer of clothes Rhys had mojo in for clothes and items as well as the assortment of weapons around the tent. From my position of the bed big enough for a person with wings and Nesta by my side touching my wings. The room became too small.

“It doesn’t, just merely an observation that has no point of avoiding if it becomes a relevance to your half-witted family dynamic.”

Another growl came out of me rumbling my chest at that as her hands came closer to my more sensitive parts of my wings where the hound clawed. My body shuddered a little bit I started to focus on the anger she was summoning in me. 

“Maybe so, but that is coming from the girl who is incapable of expressing any type of love to anyone other than Elain. I wonder is it cowardice or do you lack the ability to know how to feel anything but destructive anger and hate.”

My voice deeper and lower and I moved my head from staring forward at the tent to her as I held her eye contact. Her face posture didn’t change from her statue stance of bitter. Her left eye twitched ever so slightly in the strong glare she held for me staring at me unflinchingly. Indicating that I indeed struck a nerve.

It was abnormal for me to outrightly insult anyone like this. Normally settling for the ice-cold rage to simmer in my still body to unleash in battle. But with my injuries at this moment there would be slight chance that I would be ordered on the front lines no matter my subjective thoughts. And the thought enraged me in a heat that I rarely encompassed. 

Mors confession and the presence of the viper was just adding to the fire. Her fingers passed of a sensitive part of my wing again and I couldn’t help but let out a soft deep groan. Her eyes darted to my parted mouth; her hands faltered for a moment. She swallowed then returned her gaze to where she was working. A thick tension swept across the tent as she finished with the salve and worked on putting on clean dressings to my wounds. 

The room was getting hotter and hotter and now the feeling of her body close to mine was almost too much. She finished up quickly now and my fae hearing could hear her breathing a bit more ragged then before in the solidarity space. Grabbing the tray, she moved around me to leave without a word, but my hand caught her wrist stopping her in her tracks. 

Her eyes met mine in a glare. I mimicked it in a tether shared rage. Without losing her gaze I grabbed the tray putting it to the side out of the way on top of the dresser. I stood up a bit slowly adjusting to being on my feet after recently being healed but didn’t sway. The night of sleep providing me with enough recovery. 

Her hands still in the position of holding the tray I walk up to her so I’m towering over her, but she didn’t cower. Her chin lifted strong in sheer will. I put my hand in on her throat. Not hard enough to hurt but enough for her not to move. We stare at each other a moment longer simmering in the understanding of feeling. 

I slowly tilt my head to meet her lips and that seems to shock her out of her stillness, and she grabbed the back of my head and kissed me ferociously. Tightening my grip on her neck allowing her mouth to slightly open I pushed back with my tongue racking around the roof of her mouth and sharply bit her lip hard enough to draw a bead of blood. The slight metallic taste evident though our joined tongues fighting for dominance. 

There was no comfort. It was all teeth and tongues as we both let ourselves go. As we let out the emotions we fought so fiercely to shield people from. Through her I felt the utter rage of burning fire, the heavy weight of loneliness, the piercing desperation for warmth for our cold filled souls and the hunger for the feeling of release. In this brief moment of mutual feeling. We let go. 

I picked her up from her legs letting them wrap around me and my hips connect with hers. I felt her soft gasp at the feeling of my hardness against her. Swiftly I turned her around and set her back of the bed and I ground myself into her in one smooth movement without disconnecting from her lips. She moaned outrightly in surprise and feeling. Disorientating her temporarily making her open her eyes then to have them roll back in pleasure. I didn’t have the patience of being slow and she didn’t have the luxury of that. We both wanted the same thing. To claw our way through each other so we could feel something. A distraction. 

I took my lips off her and made quick work pushing her skirt up to above her hips exposing her creamy, soft legs. Not bothering to take off her dress or shoes I tear her undergarments with my Illyrian strength ripping them off her body that was hiding her sex away from me. I give her one look to find her still glaring through half lidded eyes and ragged breaths. I move down holding her thighs in place and lap at her letting myself indulge in her sweet taste. She arches her back and makes a loud moan and I stop straight away. 

Moving away from her, she whimpers. Her cheeks blushing at the slip.

“Do not make a sound”

My deep rumble of my voice commands and I glare at her. She glares back but doesn’t say anything. Smart. I go back my work and lap and lick making her wetter. She writhes on the bed breathing hard through her nose as she bites hard on her lip. I make a long lick that finishes with me catching the tip on my tongue on her clit. And she can’t help but let loose another moan. 

I stop my movement against her again leaning back to take off the pants, chucking them to the floor. She’s breathing even harder now looking at the long curve of my cock. Looking at me with the heated fire but accompanied with a look of almost of a plea. Watching her fight herself whether to beg or bite back a remark. Moving my face back up to her I kiss her roughly and insert two fingers inside her. Swallowing her moans when I feel her need to breathe against my mouth. I release her lips and move those fingers that were once inside her to her mouth so she can taste herself. 

She sucks at my scarred fingers massaging them with her tongue. I nip at her ear lobe as I rub the tip of my cock against her entrance. Whispering in her ear lowly.

“Because I don’t trust you to be quiet. Don’t bite.”

I press those fingers in her mouth to make her tongue lie flat, gagging her. I press into her in one smooth thrust. Her eyes roll back and her tongue presses against my fingers as if she was going moan loudly. I set an unrelenting pace and I feel her legs quivering around my waist as I pound her into the bed. Breathing loudly through her nose she makes small cries and moans at the back of the back of her throat as its muffled from my fingers. 

I feel her unravelling, clenching around me and I grind my teeth, jaw tightening. She’s a lot tighter than I would of thought. Adjusting her hips slightly I find a way to hit her deeper into her. Thrusting without mercy to find my pleasure she finally comes undone. I don’t relent my pounding even after I feel her body go from convulsing in ecstasy to jolting in retreat. Tears are cascading down her cheeks now most likely from sensitivity as I keep up my unforgiving pace. Feeling her jolt around me her back arching putting her in the perfect position where I can lift my hand from the bruising grip on her hip to rub circles on her sweet spot. 

It sends her in a loss of pleasure yet again, quivering and clenching unbelievably tight. Leading me to explode, shoving deep into her one last time and burying my head into her neck. Groaning into the crevice of her neck as I come. Taking my fingers out of her mouth. We both just stay there for a moment with just the sound of our heavy breathing.

Then I slip out of her making her slightly wince and lie next to her on the bed. She gets up without a word on shaky legs readjusting her dress and hair. Then goes to grab the tray of healing materials and leaves not looking at me once. Everyone should be eating lunch and settling the winter court in another part of the camp so the sound of her singular, resounding footsteps from the tent is the only thing my fae ears catch in proximity. And I am once again alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... you probably thought this was going to be Nesta. But i gave you daddy Azriel. Have you left this fic screaming in sheer shock or disgust yet?  
> Let me know, i love to punish myself with the opinions of others.  
> Kisses.  
> \- An equally as damaged writer as you, the reader.  
> 


	2. Nesta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes back again i dont know how far I'm going to go with this story but now I guess i have started I feel compelled to continue. This could be triggering yet I should warn you this is not even the worst that is to come fellow friends.

Its over. But this is nothing like the great narratives that I fawned over with anticipation. There is no walking into the sunshine, riding on a pale white horse with a lover. No symbolism of freedom. Nor comfort in ending. Not for me anyway. 

Washing up back to Velaris. Like floating debris drawn back to the shore. The pull back to what is more familiar away from the vast unknown. This place. Where life is so colourful and loud. So fruitful in its richness of art, music and dreams. Its whiplashing. Seeing this city in its state of peace and harmony. From the harsh, taxing horrors from that gore-filled battle field. 

The remnants of phantom sensation. Lungs screaming and stomach in tumbleweeds. Bile at the back of my throat and eyes stinging. The sharp, sudden snap of a neck. The jagged saw of a dagger cutting through cartilage and tendons. Warm blood on my hands. My eyes. My mouth. Staring into the dark abyss of still-glass eyes. The ragged breath in my ear. Pressed against a chest hitching lying on broken bones. The tendered desperation of a kiss so soft full of sorrows and promises. 

Then when I felt the cauldron shatter. I did as well. As if I was merely glass just thrown full speed at a wall. Yet pieced together ever so perfectly at the same time. But it wasn’t quick and sudden. No it was life robbing and knew no boundaries of time and space. Coming into gradual waves, rising in crescendo. The sharp pinpricks in my fingertips and toes, rushing through my veins in my arms and legs towards my heart like a poisoned arrow. It was as if I could feel the release of endorphins, no line between pain and pleasure. 

Aware of the intricate, methodical happenstances of the travel of messages of sensory neurons to interneurons to motor neurons as if it was lightning in my body. The crashing of it all as it meets my spine. Rendering me to my knees. Feeling it race up my central nervous system like vines growing unruly. Passing the threshold of my brain stem, the electric tornado ripples out like a stone hitting water.

Not in control of my body my head is thrown back, spine arching. Exhaustion in my lungs and the tight strain in my throat suggesting that I could be screaming. My eyes light up in that unhinged, blaze of silver fire. Skin heating up and glowing a bright, blinding white in the shape of cracks in my skin, out of my mouth and hair. As if I have been truly struck with lightning. The ground shakes under my knees, trees groan and drag from the strength of the harsh winds. 

Atoms separated, stretching unto the very ends of the world. I’m weightless in that moment. It’s a breaking. An untethering of bonds. The pain of being ripped into so many pieces. Beyond the fear of death. But also a rush of freedom. Gone from the grasp of that evil vessel of nightmares and abominations. The ecstasy of gates rushing open. Filling me with the thrill of abundant magic and energy.

But now back in this world. This court. This city. This body. Unshackled and empty, the absence of feeling in the wake of that intensity. Large orders of magnitudes of complete, absolute nothingness. That’s all that’s left. Nothing.

I read in a book once that when the body is in shock it means the organs aren’t getting enough blood or oxygen. I wonder if that is what is happening now.

That this marks the day finally that Nesta Archeron, the viper who bites with her venomous words. The evil sister who let her fourteen year old sister hunt in the woods as she did nothing. The ungrateful daughter who watched her shell of a father wither out of spite and malice for not being good enough. The hellcat who clawed and screamed her way out of the cauldron with a new sense of power and the taste of vengeance of her tongue, for a world that keeps taking. Nesta, the unforgiving. Nesta, the unlovable. Nesta, the unravelling.

Maybe its finally the moment when the ice in my heart spread to the other ends of my body. And refused the vital air needed out of repulsion of continuance. Or maybe my body is tired. As well as my mind. Tired and broken from keeping everything inside barbed and pillared, festering in the dark. Soul weak and crying for the girl she used to be. Could have been if life had dealt her different. Stolen and robbed. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t take the king’s head back to have stuffed and hung on your wall.”

The words shake me out of my pitiful theories and thoughts. Eyes snap to the dark haired, short, fae female. That usual, unkept, ever-burning fire put out. No energy to even address what she said just staring blank in a void. 

I can’t feel his gaze. Not once since the battle. But I do see his back as he walks away with Morrigan and Azriel. The female who hates me for the cruelness I encompass. And the male who I have never even spoken to really besides that one moment. The event that we have put under the rug. Both of us professionals at emotionless preservations of cold masks. It never happened. 

If I blinked hard enough around the fog hindering my sight and awareness. I could see along side them walking the girl who wanted to travel the world and make a name for herself. The girl who danced to her mothers singing voice. The girl who craved escapism and the discovery of stories. The girl who loved her sisters deep down more than anything, more than life, more than herself. The girl who held tight on the words of a male louder and bigger than worlds. And with those words, the promise. “I will find you again in the next world—the next life. And we will have that time. I promise.” Floated away with them, away from her with each step he took. 

I think Feyre tried to ask something but I didn’t bother to actually find out. Turning my back on her like I’ve done all my life I walk up the stairs. Another whole battle against my aching bones and my forgotten motivation. Each step a dull, resounding diming. Like consistently hitting a gong in tune. Yet if the gong was actually a shrivelled piece of meat and a hammer. Absorbing the sound and leaving me battered and bruised. 

In the room that was presented as mine for now. I close the door with a decisive click. Back against the flat wooden surface. My body sliding to sit with my knees drawn up against my chest. Head hitting the door with a soft thud thrown back. I stare up at the white ceiling. The smooth, white exterior so simple, not warm enough to fill my body with that intense sense of exhilaration. Too lustreless in comparison. A colour toned bright and pure yet holds no where near the notion of that celestial light. I craved it. The rumbling beast under my skin craved it. That once feeling, it was everything and nothing at the same time. And that’s what I needed. To be everything and feel nothing until it all fades away. Me with it. Once again I was lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so heres the Nesta you have been waiting for. Very short. The start was like a shot. This is like a chaser.  
> If the chaser had small shards of steel with the intent to rub raw on your brain with sheer dejection.  
> I had the Azriel chapter written for literally ages and finally posted it. But this is where the story is going to actually going to pick up now.  
> Get ready for crippling angst and whiplashing moments of trauma.  
> P.S This is not really edited so sorry in advance for any errors. Recognise me as a human being who makes many, many mistakes.  
> Or at least in the disguise of one to hide all my demonic, horrid flaws.  
> I dont know if you are already sick of the sarcastic, deranged personality that is prominent in this very writing.  
> An extension of ones self you could say. Of me, the author. Nice to meet you.


	3. Goodbye stranger

_*Very well, so you have seen inside of the minds of the likes of people that make this story grand. Surprisingly paired and equally as damaged they are the beginning. All stories have them, and it can always be decided when exactly that story starts. Now fellow friends, I see you have made it to this part of the story so far, so I guess congratulations is in order. Congratulations and condolences for this is not the story for the soft-hearted. I know you already have questions by now. Like whom is writing this foul, horrid tale of the hated and ruinations of peoples? And I do have answers. But answers are earned. Patience is a virtue and maybe I don’t want to fucking give them. This all but the beginning and you have a long way to go and so do they. Grab onto your bollocks ladies and gentlemen, we are flying on the clouds of impossibility and fuckery. Love you could even say. But what would I know? I’m no poet and stories are told by the words of man. And what is truth but the illusion of objectivity? Remember this and only this my fellow friends, trust no one.*_

__________________________________________________________________________

It took Nesta 3 hours to get off that floor.

Bones popping and snapping with each bend of her knees and ankles. The huff of her body from the sudden onslaught of carrying her weight upright. Spine cracking as she straightens. It felt like the very bones of her ass was imprinted like stone on that ground.

Stars dance along her vision and she sways. Putting her hand on the wall for stability she shakes off the remnants of vertigo and walks to the bathroom closest her room. Making a straight beeline to the sink.

In a hurry of movements, she jerkily starts pumping soap into her hands. One. Two. Three. By number ten her hand is overflowing with lavender scented liquid soap. Shakily, she turns the tap on hot, engulfing her hands under the surge. Scratching and scrubbing every crease and crevasse roughly. The scolding water burning her hands red from the abuse Nesta plagues them with, but she doesn’t dare stop. Nesta welcomes the pain. She needs to be cleansed. Purify her sins. _She needs to wash the stain._

What stops her in her place is a drop of water contrary to the flood protruding from the silver tap. She looks up to see her reflection. Blood shot eyes and blotchy, ashen cheeks wet as another tear escapes, rolling down. A stranger stares back at her.

Her father used to say that the eyes are like books. They tell stories. Sometimes even more than words can. And to read a person by looking into their eyes was to be brave enough to start a novel at the beginning knowing that it has an ending. To enter a world that is solely not yours but connects you all the more. To see them for not what they are but who they are and all they encompass. And maybe she took that too willingly as a child. For she always had the ability to pierce a person with her stare fearlessly and without shame.

“You’re a reader Nesta. Going through books as one would breathe air to fill up and live. Do not be afraid of being a girl with a story to tell. And never let it be known that you do not have the courage and will to learn and enter other’s stories. Because you do. The world is yours for the reading.”

The words of a father young and bright. Who ventured seas and devoured sights of diverse lands. A father strong who had hands that could lift her up as if she weighed a bag of straw. And safe, long arms that wrapped her up in the softest of hugs when gods stomped angry on the clouds in the sky.

That father died a long time ago. Leaving in its place a man broken and wilted. Who sat on that chair in that tiny hovel. A man weak from the assault of humans corrupted in power and gold. And a will, forgotten and buried like his lover passing in her sleep leaving loss and abandonment in its wake.

Yet in the briefest of moments. Where that tyrant king held his breathing life in his hands. As she looked in his eyes glassy-teared staring back at her. Nesta wasn’t brave. For she saw and felt the last page turning of his book. He was her father, and he was reading her as she were him. The shared desperation and fear as well as the longing and heartbreak.

And then he spoke, “I loved you from the first moment I held you in my arms. And I am … I am so sorry, Nesta —my Nesta. I am so sorry, for all of it.” He was not a man, but her father and she was his daughter.

A sharp snap. So quick and resounding. Gone.

Then fingers wrapping around an obsidian hilt. Rotating a blade ever so slowly. To savour the feeling of teared muscle, cartilage and bone. Grinding against an edge so sharp. Twisting and twisting. Looking into those eyes and watching the cold life flare and fade. Feeling the heavy thud of a book snapping shut. The weight of his head in her hands.

A swarm of bees laying chaos against her skull. Buzzing and banging into the walls of her mind. Screaming to be set free. The ringing in her ears so intense shaking her vision. Yet the world is silent and still peering in those eyes. Sweat chilling on her skin and stinging winds rustling her hair. Still, she feels the warmth of blood on her hands. The scent and taste on her tongue of that coppery metallic.

Back into reality. Nesta touches her face as if she was checking she is the person in the mirror looking back. A shudder escapes her and the power growls under her skin. Always making it presence known. Its feels like its restless. Hungry. For what? Scared to think about. At least that is what she tries to tell myself. Better that then to accept the fact that she couldn’t quite possible feel anything at the moment.

Gone the fears that summoned questions such as who am I? Or more like what am I? Feels like an age ago when such loss of understanding warranted petty fears for oneself. The questions do come but the reactions are lost. Replaced by that wicked, licking voice. The one that followed her out of the dark, black waters that screamed for her to stop as she raged.

Sometimes it sang at her softly. Other times a different type of soft with the slow coldness as it discredited and flayed her from the inside out. That voice she grew up to submit to as a child. Once recognised as godly from the power perceived with wide, ignorant eyes. Imprinted on Nesta’s being. She who’s voice never left even after death.

**‘Little one, aren’t you tired yet?’** It whispered

**‘Weak and pathetic girl. You disappoint me’** It sneered

**‘A lady you are not, MONSTER!’** It screamed.

**‘My Nesta.’** It mocked and laughed.

Turning around she fills up the tub. Watching as the water glides and swirls down the pristine porcelain. As it rises in volume. She strips off her clothes.

Standing there staring. The water is still clear. Deep breath in, deep breathe out. Dipping her foot in she makes the mistake of squeezing her eyes close tight. Nesta’s breathing speeds up. Her foot is fully submerged now, the water licking at her calf. Feeling the flat bottom of the tub under her foot she opens her eyes. Still clear. Putting her weight on one leg the other foot joins the one submerged leaving her standing there in the bath.

Lifting her eyes, she looks at her reflection again from the tub. The girl with teary, panicked eyes and shaky hands. Pathetic. Hardening her features and glaring back. Defiance ruling her actions, she takes one more deep breath and sits down in the tub. Surrendering her body. The water remains the same state of clear.

Forcing herself to go on and wash her body. Scrubbing her skin with soap that looks like liquid star dust scented a fresh, sweet musk. Then comes her hair. A difficult task she hasn’t quite mastered because Nesta is unable to let my head under the water. It’s too much. Lavering the rich, thick shampoo on her scalp. She starts to clumsily scoop water with her hand to wet the strands.

The foam of the shampoo surrounds her. Trapping her.

Suddenly the water is not clear, its black. And she’s being grabbed. That moron king sitting proud on his throne of bones staring smugly. Nesta kicks out trying to separate herself from the looming black cauldron. They throw her in, and she feels the water burning at her skin, molesting her body, encasing her mind, tearing at her soul.

**'Hello little one.**

**How much I missed you. I have been waiting for your return.**

**You stole from me. Now let me return the favour and TAKE back.**

**GIVE IT BACK. GIVE IT BACK. GIVE IT BACK. GIVE IT BACK. GIVE IT BACK.'**

Too much.

_I’m drowning. I can’t breathe. Help me._

_I’m in there. I’m in there. I’m in there._

Then something comes and lifts her out. She thinks they are trying to talk to me, but Nesta can’t hear over her heaving breaths. They could be cries although she would never admit it.

Feeling them wrap her up and trap her in some dry, soft contraption and she jerks and flails. Then they move her to sit on their lap, bringing her close to their chest. She can feel their radiance of warmth and settle a little, yet air is still not coming easily enough to her and its becoming concerning. Her throat aches at the strain and she can hear the hoarse attempts of her body trying to get oxygen.

She vaguely registers the words.

“Come on sweetheart, you need to slow down and breathe for me.”

Before her eyes roll in the back of her head. For Nesta Archeron to faint there on the cold bathroom floor in the arms of the General of the night court. Her last thoughts before everything going dark.

_Cassian._

__________________________________________________________________________

In waiting, outside in the foyer from Nesta’s room sits Elain deep in thought on the plush violet couch. Feyre next to her biting her fingers appearing quite tired. Rhysand standing off to the side watching his mate in concern and pursing his lips in poorly veiled annoyance. He definitely had other visions of how this night was going to go. Quite blue if I’m honest if you would like a description and have the capacity of comprehension. Everyone sobered up and washed up from celebrations.

Cassian paces outside the door. He’s never been the type to sit still. Always going headstrong into things. His best plans made out of spontaneity and fast thinking.

Do not be fooled that this of him makes him anywhere near the notion of unintelligent. Cassian is one of the smartest people I can truthfully say I know within the confinities of subjectivity. And he is the General of Night’s Illyrian legions and court armies.

But in this moment, he is just Cassian. A male capable of being ruled by emotions. Ones that he is succumbing to right now. And at the enormity of all of them crashing into him, fear and worry. Still fresh from the healing of his broken bones and spoken words of desperation and love on that battlefield moments from death’s kiss. 

The alpha male senses screaming at him. _Protect. Protect. Protect_

Who would of thought that he is capable of such feeling? Going by many names such as Lord of bloodshed, Prince of bastards, Warrior-heart, Cass, Pigeon even. He chuckles at the thought of such a name. Only one lady would look him in the eye and say such a thing. And Brute, a name he has come to find he is quite fond of considering.

That he a low born lesser fae is roped into all this. All that is Nesta Archeron. And for what? What end? That’s the question now is it. But Cassian could never fear her. His very life essence was constructed for war. And fighting is what he does best. And what he will do when it comes down to it. For her.

When Madja comes out of the room Cassian immediately swarms her with questions. 

"Is she okay. Where is she hurt? Why did it take so long? Is she-

“She is fine. There seems to be no harm done to her body. She fainted from loss of oxygen during her panic attack. The only treatments I can recommend is some ginger tea for her inevitable sore throat and rest. She shows various symptoms of trauma due to events from the time of her evolution from mortality and she will need to find a way to heal from that.”

She said with pointed eyes at Cassian. He opened his mouth as to speak again but was interrupted yet again.

“I have put her in a deep sleep for now yet let it be known that she may suffer from disorientation and memory loss from these previous instances as it is one of the brain’s way of survival.” Madja countered smoothly.

That collected professionalism from her experience in panicked incidents where she has to be that person of unbending stone to lean on and calm water to be reassured evident.

Taking in all that information and letting it wash all over him, Cassian released a relieved breath. Not at all settled but at least more calm and sure.

Feyre comes to stand at his left, listening to her advice. Going in straight for a hug.

“My deepest thanks Madja. Not just for this but everything. You have been a tremendous help and I cannot be more grateful.”

Madja just hugs her back unsurprised by the affection. Goes to lift and rest a hand on her cheek. The action purely motherly.

“No need High lady. It is already known; I can feel from the radiance of your golden heart.”

Cassian watches with a soft smile. How far his friend has come into this family. As if she has been here from the very start. He looks at the door where there is no doubt a lady in similar appearance with the difference of sharper facial features and a slimer, softer build. Her usually set postured hardness probably relaxed in her sleep.

He longs to be near her and witness it. Never in his 500 years of living has he ever met such a complex and fierce being as Nesta. And he can’t help but be intrigued. But she is not ready. She has been through a great deal and he said that we would have time.

And time is what he will gift her. He will always wait for her. But for now, he will leave her to rest and find herself before he finds her. Because he wants to know her. All that is Nesta Archeron. 

The families of the dead in battle need the Commander. He has obligations to note them of their loss and to take care of any further needs. Turning around to leave. Halfway to the balcony he is stopped.

“Commander let it be noted that the reason for the lengthiness of my tending to Lady Nesta is that I couldn’t see her.”

He turns around jaw hardening wondering if she waited for him to allow himself to switch from Cass to Commander for this information. Waited for him to stamp down his emotions and retreat into the part of himself of unresolve and hardness. Lifting up a brow she continues.

“It appears that Lady Nesta has adopted the ability to not only shield her mind.” She looks at Rhys and Feyre.

Looking back at Cassian, “But shield her body from such eyes for harm _and_ healing. I found it very hard to be able to penetrate my magic through her. So, I had to do it the old-fashioned way without.”

Looking at the door concern breaking through his walls.

“This could be worrisome in the near future if she was deeply injured as I would only be able to treat her in such a way if she doesn’t let those very shields down. This could be her consciously doing it or not or possibly an effect from her making.”

Taking down that information with narrow eyes he tightly nods. He looks at Rhys his eyes give him approval for leaving. Turning away he makes it to the balcony with no one to stop him this time and takes off in the wind.

Away from his home and family. From the woman he was ready to die with. And from Cass.

The general of the night court one with the skies with purpose leading his path.

___________________________________________________________________________

When Nesta wakes up she does so in a layer of confusion. Groggily squinting around the room.

_How the fuck did I even get here?_

Sitting up in bed she looks down at the night gown she’s wearing. Ruling it out as her just blacking out from sheer exhaustion. Must have arrived back from everything and crashed. 

After getting dressed she makes her way downstairs. Her stomach grumbling loudly, she heads to the kitchen. On her way she pears out the window.

Must be early it’s not quite light yet. Walking past the dining room Elain spots her stopping her in the doorway.

“Nesta? Your awake come and eat.”

Looking at the range of lean meats and roasted vegetables then her sister sitting solitary at the head of the table. Unusual for breakfast and the house is very quiet.

Reading the confusion on her face Elain counters with an answer.

“It’s dinner time. You’ve been asleep for quite a while. Two days in fact. I don’t blame you it’s been quite exhausting lately.”

Her younger sister chuckled with that soft kindness. She takes a seat to her right at the table with furrowed brows. The events of war repeating in her mind as a reminder of the reason for such large amounts of rest. Elain starts to load her plate with food as she watches.

“Feyre is out helping families somewhere in the town from the aftermath of Hybern’s forces. Azriel sifted to the shadows doing mother knows what I didn’t ask. Mor has gone to the other court here. I have no idea where Rhysand is though I doubt you care. Amren is Amren and Cassian is seeing families of the Illyrians lost in battle.”

Meeting her sister’s eyes blankly at the irrelevant information that was randomly given. Nesta’s eye twitching slightly at the mention of the last person she listed.

“Eat you must be hungry”

Nesta too hungry to disobey and too tired to leave this table starts to eat barely tasting anything. Thinking about everything that has happened and how everyone left as if she never even existed.

She doesn’t let herself emphasise the thought that everyone was just one person. One male she thought she couldn’t shake off. I guess she was wrong. As well as him because his speech of regrets of time and finding her is left empty.

Impossible anyways because that was said to the girl on that battlefield where she died then and there. And like what her mother told her on that cold night. What’s dead should stay dead.

He left without a thought of her or goodbye. And maybe that’s how it’s going to stay.

How it should stay.

The caress of a voice of darkness.

‘ **Dead or alive little one, suffering seems to be your destiny.’**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you are another chapter.  
> I dont know If I am that organised to have a set posting time which is very annoying I know but bear with me.  
> Lately I hav been actually doing things as if I have a life. I have been socialising.  
> *dramtic gasp*  
> But anyways i do hope you all have a great holidays. I'm already prepping the plaster for the smile I'm planning to wear for the family events.  
> Or maybe I'll go without and have the night result in mass murder.  
> Tempting i must say.  
> I am kidding. That is a joke. I am not a psychopath.  
> *nervously looks back and forth*


End file.
